


A Weapon for a King

by Bookshido



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crocea Mors, Excalibur, Gen, One of My Favorites, Sailor Moon Weapon, The Yellow Death, dream visit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookshido/pseuds/Bookshido
Summary: Sam is visited by an old power in his dreams and it bleeds over into the real world.





	A Weapon for a King

Sam was awakened by the sharp clang of metal on metal ringing throughout his bedroom. He sat bolt upright, hand slipping under his pillow by instinct to feel for his pistol, only to find it wasn’t there. Sam’s eyes snapped open and he tossed the pillow aside before realizing that he wasn’t even in his room anymore. 

Instead of his bedroom, he was in a very dark room lit only by red light that emanated from a pile of lit coals within a metal tin and a glowing hot furnace. Strings of chain were draped over the ceiling’s support beams and were hanging with tools, most of which were hammers. Instantly, Sam felt a sting of panic at the room’s appearance, the scene reminding him all too much of his time  _ there _ . Memories began to seep back in and Sam looked around for something that he could focus on to drive the memories away. He finally settled on a table against the wall, focusing on the pile of weapons that littered the table. They glistened in the firelight with a steely charm, looking a lot like the weaponry they had found in the bunker. There was a certain ancientness to them, a way that made it seem as though they had been crafted by someone who still knew how to make the legendary weapons of old. Everything but these weapons was covered with a small layer of coal dust, making everything seem darker and more in shadow.

“Much like a kraken in the way that you hold your pillow at night,” a gruff male voice declared. 

The voice echoed around the room, was deeply booming, and made Sam start a little in the bed. He looked around yet again trying to find the speaker. He soon spotted him, standing next to the furnace, a pair of red-hot tongs in his gloved grip. 

The figure was wearing heavy leather work clothes, but with a modern spark mask covering his face. The man swung around, pulling a glowing hot strip of metal from within the fire and placing it on top of an anvil that hadn’t been there a moment before. The man then seized a large mallet that hung from one of the chains stretching across the workshop’s top and began to hammer into it.

“Who are you!” Sam asked, his words being swallowed by the bangs. “Where am I?”

“My workshop,” the figure replied, punctuating his last word with another slam on the weapon. “I thought that would be obvious.”

Sam’s jaw quickly dropped from his shocked gape and he lightly pinched himself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. The pinch stung and Sam winced, finally believing his eyes. The man picked up the hammered weapon and plunged it into a trough of water, steam rising from the water.

“Who are you,” Sam demanded again, finally getting up from the bench he had been sleeping on. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I brought you here for a larger purpose,” the man explained as he removed the weapon from the water and dried it off with a clean white rag. “A boon of mine.”

Sam huffed.

“That doesn’t tell me who you are,” he stated, crossing his arms angrily.

The man ignored Sam and took off his mask, revealing an ugly scarred face. Sam’s first instinct was to grimace, but he did his best to keep his expression neutral lest he piss off this person who had brought him here. The man ran a finger along the edge of the blade and nodded to himself, placing it on a small but growing stack of similar weapons. 

“I see you aren’t well versed in mythology,” the man finally said, lips pursed as he placed his hands on his hips and turned to face Sam. 

“I’m pretty good with mythology,” Sam muttered, staring at the ground. “I take it you’re a god?”

“Then you should know who I am,” the god said with an eyeroll. “I expected better from the legendary Sam Winchester.”

Sam thought for a moment before he made his first guest. Only two people, well, gods, made sense in this situation.

“Are you Vulcan?” he asked curiously, brow furrowing in confusion. “Or are you Hephaestus?”

“The first one, boy,” the god replied, a smile finally creeping onto his face. “An excellent guess.”

“Why am I here?” Sam asked, taking a seat. “Why visit me in a dream.”

“A great war is coming,” the god stated, picking up a pile of new weapons and moving them to join the others on the table next to the previous pile. “And you and your brother are very poorly armed. In answer to your second question, its because I knew you wouldn’t kill me here.”

“So, what can you do to help us?” Sam asked, folding his hands together. “There isn’t much that we can do now that Lucifer is out again.”

“Au contrair,” the god replied with a chuckle. “There is much you can do.”

The god hobbled over to Sam, his boots making a heavy scraping sound as he limped forward.

“Please stand,” Vulcan asked, making a gesture for Sam to rise.

He complied, towering over the shorter man. 

“This may sting,” the god muttered, placing his hand directly over Sam’s heart. 

A brilliant white light began to shine from under the palm and Sam’s head shot down to get a better look at it. Slowly, but surely, something was rising from the light, out of himself. It was clearly made of gold and once it had risen out of his chest enough, Vulcan seized hold and pulled. 

Sting couldn’t describe the pain that occurred when he pulled the item fully out. Sam tried to hold in a scream of pain, but a deep groan escaped his gritted teeth and the god stumbled back, avoiding a reflex kick that would have gone straight to the groin. Once the dots of pain cleared from his eyes, Sam could finally see what had come out of him. 

The blade was steel, shining with a gold sheen that did not reflect the light from the furnace, but rather a light that seemed to come from within. The hilt was a golden shade, encrusted with stones that were a stunning deep red color. Probably garnets, though that could have been the lighting. The long blade was thin, only about three inches across. Sam’s eyes went wide and he stared at the god, who was looking at the blade with wonder and what could only be described as love.

“This sword has gone by many names over the years,” Vulcan said, gently twisting the sword to examine the blade as it reflected a strip of light onto the ceiling. “ _ Crocea Mors _ , the Yellow Death, Excalibur…”

Sam cleared his throat, his eyes fixated on the blade and feeling a chill run through his blood. The blade looked a lot different than he would have imagined and Sam was still shocked that that blade had been pulled out of him. It was huge, even for a broadsword. 

“A thousand years ago, my brothers and sisters came together in a rare council to hide this weapon,” Vulcan said, holding the blade up to eye level and looking all the way along the length. “We decided to hide it in the heart of the soul of the purest destined hero.”

“Me,” Sam breathed, his surprise audible. 

“Exactly,” Vulcan confirmed with a wink, handing the weapon to Sam. “It has been hidden within your soul since before you were born, since before you had a body. Use it well, and may the gods be with you.”

“But… why me?” Sam asked, placing the flat edge of the blade on his palm so that he was holding the sword in both hands. “Why am I the purest destined hero?”

“You aren’t the only one, you know,” Vulcan explained. “The first was a young fellow by the name of Arthur. One of my extended cousins, the Lady of the Lake gave it to him when it was his turn, as it is my duty to give it to you now.”

“King Arthur,” Sam stated, wanting to confirm who it was. 

“Exactly,” Vulcan agreed. “And when his time was up, he returned the blade to the Lady before passing on into the afterlife. As you will do when you finally die for good. And before him was Caesar, who lost the blade to eternity when the gods took the blade back after we saw that he was on a path to ruin and fire.”

Sam chuckled nervously. 

“Now, Sam, there are a few things you need to know about that sword,” Vulcan said, a much more serious expression coming onto him. “Number one, if you cut someone with that blade, they will die.”

Sam’s eyes went wide again and he let go of the blade, keeping it only held by the hilt. Vulcan chuckled at his reaction. 

“Don’t worry, it can’t hurt you unless someone else hurts you with it,” Vulcan explained, making the larger man relax. “I built that in. Swords can be a real bitch to maintain and you will cut yourself at least once when you are sharpening it. Can’t be losing the owner each time they go to take care of the damn thing.”

“Number two, the blade will follow you,” the god lectured. “As in, from room to room. If you move, it will appear with you. If you get disarmed, it will appear in your hand again. Never will lose it.”

“Handy,” Sam commented, lifting the sword up and staring up and down the smooth blade himself. “It seems well balanced.”

“Of course it’s well balanced, it was made by the gods and blessed by Hades’ hand himself,” Vulcan snapped, making Sam jump. 

“Anything else I need to know?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Not that I can think of…” the god said, trailing off. “Just… take good care of her. She is the pride and joy of my forges. I don’t want to see her ruined on her first action in a thousand years.”

“I will,” Sam promised, starting to smile again.

“Good luck, Sam, you’re going to need it,” the god said, smiling slightly. “There will be another gift waiting for you when you wake. And I’ll see you again soon.”

The world around Sam began to shift and warp, Vulcan fading into shadows as Sam reached out to try and grasp hold of something. The dream melted away, leaving Sam back where he had started, in bed, clutching his pillow.

He sat upright, staring at the now familiar sight before him. His bedroom was exactly the same as he had left it, only now it was almost six in the morning. Thanks to the dream, he had been out for nearly ten hours, a feat that he hadn’t accomplished in years.

Sam sighed and went to move his legs to get out of bed only to have them brush against something cold. He jumped, leg moving the opposite direction as Sam pulled back the covers immediately. 

It was the sword, Crocea Mors, with a simple leather scabbard laying next to it. It seemed to be staring innocently up at him, like it had been waiting for him to notice it’s presence. Sam huffed in annoyance and lifted the blade. He then picked up the scabbard as well and slide the sword inside. Sam got out of bed, sheathed sword still in hand and went to the chest at the bottom of his bed. It was covered in warding marks and Sam popped it open with one hand. He gingerly placed the sword in amongst his most precious items and shut the lid.

* * *

 

Sam had barely sat down at the kitchen table when the air next to his arm shimmered and the sword appeared. The man jumped nearly a foot in the air and gasped in surprise when he accidentally bumped it. Scowling, Sam moved it to the other side of the table and began to work on making his usual cereal for breakfast. 

A huff and moan from down the hall echoed into the kitchen and footsteps followed. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise and he fumbled with the weapon, lifting it up and standing it on it’s point next to him before returning to his cereal. The change in position did nothing to hide the large weapon from his brother, who rounded the corner quickly. Dean headed straight for the coffee maker, not looking at his brother until a mug was squarely held in his fist. Dean blinked several times and Sam looked down at the bowl in front of him. Ah yes, Wheaties, very interesting...

“Is that a sword?” Dean asked, squinting at the weapon as he held his coffee. 

“Yes,” Sam stated, not looking up from his cereal. 

“Where did you find that? Actually… don’t tell me,” Dean muttered, shuffling out of the kitchen. “Just keep that thing away from me. It gives me the creeps.”

Sam just smirked and took another bite of the cereal. If the god was right, that would be downright impossible.


End file.
